Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Probably.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, Kat.”
“Oh, Kat,” she agrees.
“Sorry you can’t ride your toy for a while.”
“Just one of the many sacrifices we mothers make for our children,” she says piously.
I grin. She’s so damned cute. If I didn’t already love this woman, I would have just fallen in love with her.
“Actually, I don’t even need my Sybian anymore,” Kat says matter-of-factly. “Now that you and I finally live in the same city, you’ll be my one-and-only orgasm machine every single night.”
“Amen,” I say. I stroke her golden hair. “Hey, you think when I was fucking you really deep at the end the kumquat was like, ‘Eek! An anaconda!’?”
Kat giggles. “Or maybe the kumquat was like, ‘A little to the left. Lower. Aaaah.”
I grimace. “Ew, Kat. No. That’s disgusting. Don’t say that.”
Kat looks stricken. “No, I meant like a baby-back-scratcher—you know, like your dick was scratching an itch on the kumquat’s back.” She makes a face. “I didn’t mean anything sexual, for cryin’ out loud.”
I put my hands over my ears. “Stop. Please. Either way, I don’t want to think about my dick touching our baby. You’re totally traumatizing me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I just meant—”
“Stop. Please. I might never be able to get a hard-on again if I’m thinking about my dick scratching our baby’s back.”
Kat’s face bursts into a huge smile.
“You’re charmed by the thought of me becoming impotent?” I ask.
“You just said ‘our baby.’”
I look at her blankly.
“‘Our baby’s back,’” she says. “That’s what you said.”
“Yeah. Because I don’t want my dick to become a baby-back-scratcher. Duh.”
“Our baby,” she says reverently. “You called the kumquat our baby.” She grins.
“I did, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m feeling right now—and, honestly, I’m feeling happy and nothing else. “Our baby,” I repeat.
Kat visibly swoons.
“Our wee little baaaaaybaaaaaaaaaaaay,” I say.
Kat giggles.
“You know what?” I say. “I just realized I’m not freaked out anymore.”
“Me, either.”
“Well, actually, I’m still a little freaked out, don’t get me wrong, but not nearly like I was when you first told me.”
Kat smiles. “Onward and upward.”
“Indubitably.”
“Hey, bee tee dubs, it’s anatomically impossible for anyone’s dick to become a baby-back-scratcher, even a dick as huge as yours.”
“Really?” I ask.
Kat nods. “I researched it. The cervix is in the way. Impossible, no matter how big the donkey-dick.”
“You’re sure?”
“Look it up for yourself, Anaconda-boy. Literally impossible.”
“When did you look that up?”
“A couple days ago.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “You’re huge—I was worried about the wee little baaaybaaay.”
“Aw. Check out the momma-Kumquat looking out for the baby-kumquat. That was a very motherly thing for you to do. Well, I assume it was motherly. I haven’t seen an actual mother in the wild any more than I’ve seen an actual wife. But I think you’re having what the anthropologists call ‘maternal instincts.’”
The look on Kat’s face is utterly adorable. It’s the same look I’d expect from her if I’d just asked her to go steady.
“So, hey, hot momma,” I say, pulling her close. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” Kat says.
“Room service or dine out?”
“Room service.”
“Burgers and fries or five-star?”
“Burgers and fries,” Kat says. “And milkshakes. Oh, and will you see if they have split pea soup? I have a weird craving for split pea soup—oh, and cantaloupe—or any kind of melon, really, except honeydew—oh, and maybe some blueberry yogurt?”
“Wow, I guess that whole pregnancy-cravings thing is real, huh?”
Kat pats her belly. “The kumquat wants what the kumquat wants. I guess the little guy (or gal) burned lots of calories dodging that big ol’ anaconda who’s been trying to scratch his back all night long.”
“Well, then, by all means, let’s feed the kumquat—not to mention get it a therapist. Lemme up, babe. I’ll make the call.” I pat her thigh and she hops off my lap. I stride across the room and pick up the hotel phone. “Room service, please.”
“Yes, sir. One moment, please.”
While I’m waiting for the call to connect, Kat grabs her purse and pulls out a package of crackers.
“You feeling sick?” I ask, still holding the phone to my ear.
Kat nods. “It mostly hits me these days when I’m hungry. Or tired. And late at night, too—and early morning. Oh, and in the car.” She rolls her eyes. “It still hits me a lot, I guess.”
I make a sad face.
“Thank you for waiting,” a male voice says into my ear. “What would you like to order, Mr. Faraday?”
I place our ridiculously bizarre order. “How long will it take?” I ask. “I’ve got a pregnant woman here who needs to eat right away.”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“They say about forty-five minutes, hot momma,” I say to Kat. “Are you gonna be okay for that long?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Kat says, holding up her Saltines. “I’ll just go lie down until the food arrives.”
“Yeah, go rest, Party Girl. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”